


Knife in the Dark

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-14
Updated: 2003-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They grow up so fast</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knife in the Dark

## Knife in the Dark

by showerMat

<http://www.livejournal.com/users/msdaccxx/>

* * *

Knife in the Dark  
by showerMat  
October 2003 

Disclaimer: Not mine and not for profit 

Author's notes: My beta Dream Team are Velvetglove and Rhiannonhero. Bless you guys - you both rule. 

This fic is dedicated to my mysterious and wonderful LJ Fairy to whom I promised my next fic. 

Feedback: Yes please! daccxx@hotmail.com 

* * *

You know it's stupid, but you do it anyway. It's just that after three months not knowing where he is nights or if he even has a bed, you can't rest easy until you've seen him sleeping. So much for early to bed, early to rise. 

It's always been a comfort to you, to watch your boy sleep. At first it was here in your bed in the arms of his mother and, later, in his own room down the hall. As he grows, you respect his privacy and stay away from his door. But sometimes you need to see your strange, wonderful, beautiful son sleeping and to know that he sleeps safely because of you. 

But you didn't keep him safe, did you? And that is why, every night since you brought him home, you've needed to see him sleep. 

And so you relinquish your warm bed and pad silently down the hall. You ease his door open, knowing that just the sight of his face, the steady sound of his breathing will be enough and you rest easy in the knowledge that all you cherish is here, safe under your roof and in your care. You can't put a dollar price that kind of happiness. 

The empty bed sends a bolt of pure fear straight to your gut. 

All is as it should be - the too-big boots marooned in the middle of the floor, the standby light on his computer winking at you in the dark - and you smile at your own foolishness, but the empty bed is a reproach and now you know you'll never sleep until you know that he does too. And so you make your way through the slumbering house, lifting the latch on the porch door so gently that it makes the merest click and, barefoot, cross the yard to the barn. 

You start up the stairs to the loft - halfway should be enough. This is his place and you won't enter except by his leave but all you need is one sight of your boy to set your heart easy and loosen that knot in your gut. 

He's there. He's sleeping. 

But he's not alone. 

Your boy is there, sprawled easy on the sofa like you've seen him a hundred times, nose buried in a comic book or, lately, some paperback from the library - _How To Understand Women_ or some such rubbish. You smiled at that one and teased him - 

"Son, there are some things you just can't learn from books." 

He's too tall for the sofa now - has been for a few years - and one be-denimed leg is stretched out, his bare foot intruding on the pale square of moonlight that floods in through the open loft door. He always had such big hands and feet. You remember his first growth spurt, aged thirteen, and how he tripped on the stairs and sent dishes flying, awkward still in his new body. 

One of those big hands is now gently cupping Lex Luthor's naked skull, holding him to his chest like he's the most precious, most breakable thing in the world. 

Oh, you could look at this and call it innocent, call it friends, call it two lonely boys simply being there for each other, but you know in your heart - in your gut - that it's more than that. And when your boy shifts in his sleep, drawing Lex even tighter to him and brushing his lips like a whisper over the wounded flesh of his scalp it only tells you what you already know. 

So what are you going to do? 

Nothing - you'll do nothing. Because he went away before and he can go away again. And next time, you won't be able to bring him back. 

So, suddenly weary, you turn and make your way back to your house and your bed and your wife. You feel one hundred years old. You feel like half your heart is gone. 

And you know you'll never have the simple comfort of watching your boy sleep again. 


End file.
